A Pawn's Guide to Success

The moment Cindy’s fingers closed around my wrist, I knew exactly what she was planning.

A setup. She’d pulled this same stunt in my past life.

Back then, Jarrold had believed her lies—that I’d maliciously pushed her down the stairs. His retaliation had been swift and brutal. He’d made sure I was blacklisted, that no one in this city would ever hire me again.

Not this time.

The second I realized her intention, I didn’t resist. Instead, I yanked her toward me, spinning us in a half-turn. Then, I let the tears fall—louder, more desperate, and infinitely more convincing than hers.

I smirked inwardly, 'You want to play the victim, Cindy? Let me show you how it's done.'

"Please, Cindy, let me go!" I cried, my voice trembling with feigned terror. "Don't push me! Somebody, help!"

Then, feeling her grip loosen in shock, I released my own.

I let my body fall backward, tumbling down the staircase. The world became a blur of pain and motion until I landed in a heap on the cold floor.

Gasps echoed through the hall. Footsteps pounded toward us.

Through my swimming vision, I saw Jarrold’s face appear above me. His eyes widened, pupils contracting to pinpricks at the sight of the blood streaming from my forehead.

He surged forward, scooping me into his arms.

"It wasn't me!" Cindy shrieked from the top of the stairs, her face ghost-white. "She jumped! I didn't push her!"

But her protests were useless. The scene spoke for itself.

Jarrold didn't even look at her. He held me tightly against his chest as he carried me out of the ballroom. My vision blurred at the edges, but I could still see the raw, unmistakable panic in his eyes—a fear that seemed genuinely for me, as if the thought of losing me truly terrified him.

For a heartbeat, I remembered why I’d fallen for him in that other life.

What a pity. I knew better now. Love was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I lifted a trembling hand, my fingers gently brushing his furrowed brow. "Don't worry," I whispered. "I'm okay."

"Don't speak," he commanded, his voice rough with emotion. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

His tone held a tenderness that felt more dangerous than any threat.

At the hospital, the doctor announced the gash on my forehead would need twelve stitches and I’d have to stay overnight for observation.

Sitting on the stiff hospital bed, I gingerly touched the bandage. The staircase hadn't been that high. Realistically, I should have gotten away with just bruises. But it hurt so much, and this kind of pain required significant compensation—preferably of the monetary variety.

As if reading my mind, Jarrold had a messenger deliver a velvet box. Inside lay a ruby necklace, a limited edition piece I’d once seen online, valued at well over two hundred thousand dollars.

Tonight, I’d spilled blood. He was spilling cash.

Jarrold placed the necklace in my palm. "I know you suffered."

Looking at the glittering gemstone, any lingering grievance was instantly replaced by a dizzying awe. I wasn't sure what hurt more now—my head, or the devastating blow to his bank account.

His phone rang, and he put it on speaker.

"Jarrold!" a frantic voice cried—one of their mutual friends, clearly a pawn Cindy had sent to test him. "Cindy just twisted her ankle! You need to come, now!"

The question hung in the air: would he still run to her?

"Got it," Jarrold said flatly, then ended the call.

I looked up at him, my expression gentle and understanding. "I'm stable now. You should go."

He seemed taken aback. "You don't mind if I check on her?"

Mind? Why would I mind? My personal ATM was free to make withdrawals elsewhere, as long as my account remained open.

I gave him a small, magnanimous smile. "It's fine, really."

He hesitated, then left.

I felt no disappointment. Instead, I looked down at the brilliant ruby resting in my hand.

So expensive. So beautiful. So mine.

…

What I hadn't anticipated was that even in this new life, I couldn't escape Cindy's vicious schemes.

The next morning, her mother stormed into my hospital room, face contorted with fury. "You've already stolen my daughter's fiancé! What more do you want? How dare you have her kidnapped!"

My blood ran cold. The same false accusation—again.

In my past life, Cindy had staged her own kidnapping and framed me for it. She'd even claimed I'd taken illicit photos.

No matter how I'd pleaded my innocence, no one believed me. Jarrold and his circle had their "justice," a retaliation so cruel it ultimately cost me my life.

The memory alone made me tremble. I looked up at Jarrold, who stood silently by my bedside. "I didn't take her," I said, my voice soft but clear. "Do you believe me?"

His silence was more damning than any accusation.

My heart sank. He still didn't trust me.

Cindy's mother shrieked, stamping her foot. "Give me back my daughter! I know it was you!"

I met her hysterical glare with forced calm. "How was she taken?"

"She twisted her ankle last night and came to this very hospital for treatment!" the woman spat. "You seized the chance to have her snatched!"

"What time did this happen?" I asked evenly.

"Around eleven o'clock!"

I turned back to Jarrold. "After you left last night, the pain was unbearable. The nurse gave me a sedative around 10:45 PM. I was asleep by eleven. There's no possible way I could have orchestrated a kidnapping."

I called the nurse in to confirm my alibi.

"Yes," the nurse verified. "Miss Wendell was administered a sedative and was asleep by 11 PM."

"Furthermore," I added, pulling out my phone, "at 11:15 PM, Cindy was still actively sending me these messages." I showed them the screen filled with venomous insults and curses.

Jarrold's brow furrowed. "What is she playing at...?"

But Cindy's mother was beyond reason. She began hurling anything within reach—a vase, a water pitcher—screaming hysterically. "Lies! All lies! You saw those messages and sent your thugs after her!"

Jarrold finally lost his patience. He had security physically remove her from the room. Then he turned back to me, pulling me into a gentle embrace.

I leaned into him, making my eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears. "Jarrold, I'm scared," I whispered, injecting a delicate tremor into my voice. "Could you... please assign me some bodyguards?"

Within the hour, two imposing men in dark suits were stationed outside my door.

Only then did I allow myself to truly rest.

Two days later, I was discharged.

I stood waiting at the hospital entrance while the bodyguards went to fetch the car.

That's when the unmarked van screeched to a halt in front of me.

Several men jumped out. A cold, chemical-soaked cloth was clamped over my mouth and nose—

Darkness swallowed me whole.

Careless. I had miscalculated.